Page 75 of Goode Vibrations

She gripped my shirt in her fists, pushed away from me. “Let’s get out of here before I change my mind.”

“Next stop, Ketchikan.”

She snickered. “You may have a bit to learn about North American geography if you think that, Errol.”

“Figure of speech, you hard case.”

Hardest thingI’ve ever done in my life, and also the most rewarding, were those days in the van with Poppy, without allowing ourselves to escape into sex.

It was always there, just under the surface. Threatening to boil over, or like a room full of explosives just waiting for a spark of ignition.

We slept together, and just slept. Curled around each other in the back of the van, under the camper, under the stars. Every few days we’d take a room so we could shower and we’d restock supplies, and sleep in a real bed. And we’d wake up together, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world.

Also the most natural thing in the world was to wake up with her body against mine, to feel want surging through me, and she, half asleep, would respond with a sultry shimmy of her ass against my desire, and more than once we nearly forgot our own plan. One of us would always remember, though.

With difficulty, I admit, and I know she felt the same way, too.

We had to create boundaries. I couldn’t let myself watch her strip for the shower, or when she got out and dried off and dressed. It was too hard to resist her, so when it was her turn to shower, I’d leave the room and go find food or bring back ice we didn’t need, or just stand outside wondering why I was doing this to myself. She did the same. Or went out to call one of her sisters, or her mom.

We talked almost every waking hour. About everything. Embarrassing childhood stories, bullies, victories, crushes. Hookup disasters, language misunderstandings, hated movies and times a movie moved us.

There was always something to talk about.

Even sex. We talked about sex alot, actually, perhaps strangely. Since we weren’t having it, it was less weird to share things from our pasts. Things past lovers had done that drove us nuts in good or bad ways. Favorite positions—reverse cowgirl for her, and doggy style for me; and least favorite—sixty-nine for both of us. We talked about close calls with condoms going missing or coming off. We even, late one night while sharing a bottle of wine in a hotel room in Saskatchewan, tried to tally numbers of partners. That had been uncomfortable for both of us.

But it drew us closer.

She asked me things I’d never have told anyone else, like what my darkest desire was, and I answered.

It was as we were passing beyond Prince George, nearing the last leg of the journey.

Out of the blue, too. Listening to music, windows down, watching the scenery.

She just looked at me, chewed on a fingernail. “Darkest desire.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Like, fetish, or fantasy, or what?”

A shrug. “However you want to answer it.”

I hesitated over that one, for a long while. “God, not an easy one.”

She just gazed levelly at me. “Nope.”

I turned my eyes back to the road. “I guess it might be kind of boring. I’m not into, like, rough stuff or choking or tying anyone up.”

“Errol, just tell me. I hope by this point you know you can trust me.”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “It’s just one of those things I’ve never trusted anyone enough to bring up.”

“And it is…?”

“Anal.”

She snorted. “Not all that dark, you’re right.”

I shrugged. “You asked.”

She held my gaze. “Interestingly, that’s my answer to that same question.”